Loose Ends and Loose Memories
by Notime33
Summary: Upon returning to 1985, Marty McFly finds that he has two sets of memories in his head. While struggling to figure out which set is "right," he finds that someone else remembers his visit to 1955.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Monday

October 28, 1985

3:04 PM

By some miracle, Marty McFly had managed to avoid detention on his first school day after his trips through time. He even managed to get to school on time, thanks to his new four-by-four.

Only it wasn't new, at least not _technically_. He clearly remembered receiving the truck on his seventeenth birthday, back on June 12. He just as clearly remembered seeing it for the first time ever on Saturday morning.

His whole day was turning out like this. When he had first returned to 1985, he had no memory of the new timeline he had created; he remembered his "loser parents", not the "cool parents" that seemed so new in his eyes. He hadn't been around 1985 long enough to get used to the change, and the following "week" he experienced gave him little time to think about it. Still, the thought of how he would adjust to the new-and-improved 1985 bothered him at night back in 1885. He had assumed that his memory would remain intact—there was no reason to suspect otherwise. He would just have to adapt and try to take things in stride, as if nothing had changed. He spent most of Sunday getting the information out of Jennifer, once she was done asking him about his time travels. Thank God she hadn't changed.

Then came the morning. He didn't sleep easily, and woke shortly after six. He wandered the house as if in a trance. Everything he saw brought with it two vivid, competing memories. He couldn't tell which was "real" now.

When he was eight years old, did he light the living room rug on fire playing with his mother's lighter, or playing with matches swiped from the kitchen? In this case, he had a rough idea, but with so much else he didn't have a clue.

He leaned against the driver's side door of his new-yet-not-so-new truck and sighed. The entire day had been like that. He could barely pay attention in class, he could barely focus when Jennifer was talking to him. The one constant was that Strickland was still an asshole. But even that seemed off—why the hell didn't he get detention today?

"Marty?"

Marty jumped a little. He turned around and found Jennifer standing there, worry etched into her face.

"Marty, what's wrong? You've been acting weird all day."

He stared at her for a moment, and he could tell he was making her uncomfortable. Finally, he asked, "Jennifer, when did I first ask you out?"

She was surprised. Marty had told her that his life had been retroactively changed by time travel, but he had never mentioned hers. She briefly considered the consequences for their relationship if there was a change in him she wouldn't remember. She also wondered why he didn't ask this on Sunday.

"On October 29th, last year—my birthday, which was a very nice touch—you asked me to the Springtime in Paris dance."

Marty nodded. "I also remember _going_ to the dance, without a date, hoping you would be there, and finally getting you to dance with me during the last song."

Jennifer's jaw dropped. " _That's_ how you did it originally?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "I know, it's pathetic."

"It's very unlike you," she said. "What it says about your personality… I mean, you don't seem different to me, but…"

She cut herself off and closed her eyes, trying to think of something to say. The voice of the future incarnation of his mother echoed through her brain: _I think your mother married_ _him_ _because she felt sorry for him._ Did she start _dating_ him because she felt sorry for him, originally? She knew what Doc said about the future not being written, but at that moment she couldn't help but think that destiny had something terrible planned for her and Marty.

She pushed those thoughts out of her head. "What's _wrong_ , Marty? Do you have two memories now?"

"About _everything_ ," he said. "It's driving me nuts. I need to talk to Doc."

"Doc didn't say when he's coming back."

"Or even _if_ he's coming back." Marty pounded his fist against the door frame.

"Why don't we check out his place?" Jennifer suggested. She tried to sound optimistic, but she could tell she wasn't pulling it off.

It seemed Marty could tell, too, but went on to say, "What the hell. Come on."

* * *

Marty didn't say a word to Jennifer as they made their way to Doc's garage. He briefly wondered if she should be driving; while his memory thing wasn't that bad (since Hill Valley itself hadn't really changed), he was still disoriented enough that driving required him to focus harder than usual.

The garage on John F. Kennedy Drive looked the same as it ever did. Marty parked directly in front, and he and Jennifer made their way to the front door.

Marty looked under the welcome mat. "Damn, his keys aren't here."

"You don't have your own, do you?" Jennifer asked.

Marty shook his head.

"The porch light is on," Marty said.

He reached for the handle and the door opened freely. After sharing a nervous glance with Jennifer—Doc wasn't one to leave his door unlocked—he pushed the door open.

Directly across and not a foot away was a DeLorean time machine.

"Holy shit," Marty said, walking into the garage.

"No kidding," Jennifer said, following behind him and closing the door.

They both circled the car. Jennifer reached out at the DeLorean, her hand inches from the frame at the door and the windshield. Her hand trembled slightly, and finally she touched it.

"Are you _sure_ it was destroyed on Sunday?" she asked.

"Of course I'm sure!" Marty said. He moved in, Jennifer stepped aside, and Marty himself touched the time machine.

"This is heavy," he said.

The two stared at the time machine for a few moments. Finally, Marty tried the car's door.

It was locked.

He bent down and peered inside the window.

"What are you doing?" Jennifer asked.

"I'm trying to read the, uh, time circuits," he said. "See what the last departed time is. But I don't think it's on."

" _Marty!_ "

Marty looked up. There, peering around the corner of the amplifier, was Doc.

"Doc!" Marty shouted, running over. "Doc, where the hell have you been?"

Doc held up a piece of the amplifier. "I seem to recall asking you not to turn on this thing."

"Uh, right," Marty said.

"Doctor Brown, what's happening?" she asked.

"All in good time," Doc said as he ran to the door.

Doc shut the door, deadbolted it, and then he grabbed on to the table with the automatic dog feeder and pulled it in front of the door. Here Marty's double memories asserted themselves again. He remembered Doc showing him the new machine that he had never seen before, and he also remembered being the one who screwed in the last screw and completed it.

"Okay, Doc, you're scaring me," Marty said.

"Just in case the Libyans are on to me," he said.

"The news said the Libyans were killed when they hit the photo stand," Marty said. He felt a little weird about that, being indirectly responsible for their deaths, even if they had been trying to kill them.

"There were more people in the cell," Doc said, turning to the pair. He wasn't dressed in the fancy, late nineteenth century duds he was sporting the last time Marty saw him. His clothes did seem old-fashioned, though. He was wearing a trench coat over brown slacks, a brown shirt, and a white waistcoat.

"We'll probably be fine," Doc said, pulling back his trench coat to reveal a gun holstered to his hip.

"Hey, is that my Peacemaker?" Marty asked. "I don't get it. Where— _when_ are you from Doc?"

"Saturday, September 1, 1894," Doc said. "From my perspective, our meeting on the train tracks was around two weeks ago, but I've been doing a lot of time traveling."

"Then where'd the DeLorean come from?" Marty asked.

"Interesting story," Doc said. "You see, once we completed the train, we traveled first to late 2015 to have the train hover converted and the original battery and discharge system replaced with a far more reliable fusion generator. When I went in to look up your future self, I learned that your son had been murdered a few days previously."

" _What_?!"

"Precisely. Once the work on the train was finished, I went back to the night of the murder and found a future Griff Tannen with the DeLorean. I ascertained its last departed time and then went forward to intercept it before the 30 year-old Griff found it."

"That really doesn't explain why there's a second time machine," Jennifer said.

Doc looked at her, surprised. Then again, he had to assume that Marty had told her about Griff over the weekend.

He continued, "The time machine out front is a precise temporal duplicate. Somehow, when the DeLorean was struck by lightning on November 12, 1955—when I was flying it, not at the Clock Tower—the DeLorean and everything in it, except for myself, was copied. The 'original' DeLorean was sent back in time precisely 70 years, 10 months, 11 days, 21 hours, and 42 minutes. This duplicate DeLorean was temporally displaced by that same amount, just in the other direction, arriving on Tuesday, September 22, 2026 at 7:24 PM."

"Doc, that really doesn't make any sense," Marty said.

"No, it doesn't," Doc admitted. "It's a very contrived, if convenient, coincidence. It's certainly more maneuverable than the train."

"So why are you here, Doc?" Marty asked.

Doc reached inside of his trenchcoat and pulled out a large, thick manila envelope. "I need to disappear for a while. Not just because of the Libyans, though they provide a handy excuse. I can't just stay in the past, with three individuals who also weren't present in the original timeline and therefore present a danger to the space-time continuum. I also can't just bring them here. How would I explain the presence of a wife and two sons I didn't have the day before!"

"Wait a minute, Doc," Marty said, "How long is 'a while'?"

"Unfortunately, 1994."

" _Nine_ _years_?!" Marty shouted.

"Is that really necessary, Doc?" Jennifer asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Doc said. "I can't just appear with a wife and two children who appeared from nowhere! I can put up with the things this town says about me, but I'm not about to inflict that upon my family. And I can't keep them in the past, where they were never supposed to exist. The best option is to vanish and reappear when having a wife and children would make sense."

He held up a manila envelope. "The full story is in here. Both of you need to memorize it as best you can. Put it in the safe over in that corner when you're done. I've written down the combination on the first page; memorize it, then destroy it."

"That's a really thick envelope, Doc," Marty said nervously.

"It's not just the story," Doc said. "Remember, I'm going to be gone for nine years. I'm going to need you two to manage my affairs during my absence."

He handed the envelope to Jennifer. "Jennifer, you're officially an adult as of tomorrow. Therefore, you're going to be tasked with the first part of this endeavor. You, and later Marty, will have power of attorney and will be able to sign documents on my behalf. There are instructions inside, which will guide you through the first phase of my plan. Assuming events unfold as I saw them on my last visit to the future, you won't need my help until early in 1987."

"1987?" Marty asked as Doc made for the door.

Jennifer examined the envelope for a moment before looking up at Doc, who was moving the automatic dog feeder away from the door.

"So we're not going to see you until 1987?" she asked.

"Yep," Doc said. "Well, assuming you don't change the future. You of course have the ability to change future events; therefore, it is possible things _will_ change, which will require me to intervene sooner than that date."

"Wait a minute, Doc," Marty said. Doc grunted as he tried to move the dog feeder. Marty ran over to him and helped him push the machine. He continued, "You're only going to see us if we screw things up?"

Doc thought for a moment. "I suppose that statement sounded rude," he said at last, "But that's the gist. I need to spend as little time interacting with this time before I make the final transition to 1994."

"Why?" Marty asked.

"Because Jules and Verne are still aging," Doc said. He held his finger to his lips. The others fell silent, and Doc removed the gun from its holster and slowly opened the door. He took a quick glance outside.

"All clear," he said, and then he re-holstered the gun and went over to the garage door and lifted it open. He continued, "Jules and Verne's ages dictate when I reappear. I'm planning on returning a hundred years after our present, which will make birthdates easier."

"Wait a minute," Jennifer said as Doc opened the gate, "You have a time machine. Can't you just do whatever it is you need to do and come back the same time you left?"

Doc smiled, "You're thinking fourth dimensionally."

"Great, _she_ can do it," Marty grumbled.

Doc pulled out his keys and unlocked the DeLorean. "In essence, that's correct." He sighed and turned to look at the two of them. "Essentially, I'm trying to spend as little time away from my family as I possibly can. I understand that neither of you are used to the idea of me being a family man, but my oldest is eight years old. Neither of you are parents yet, so I don't expect you to entirely understand—"

"We get it, Doc," Marty said.

Doc simply smiled and nodded by way of acknowledgment, and then opened the door of the DeLorean.

"Well, I guess that's everything," he said. He shook Jennifer's hand and gave Marty a hug.

Just before he pulled down the DeLorean's gull-wing door, Marty said, "Wait a minute, Doc."

"What is it?"

"I've been having this weird thing," Marty said. "It's like I have two sets of memories. You know, the way things were before I went back in time and the way they were after. It's driving me nuts, Doc. Is that ever going to go away?"

Doc considered for a moment. "I had a similar experience when you first arrived in 1885. It was far less pronounced, since very little had changed other than that you stayed with me in 1955 for an additional four days or so. If I can extrapolate based on the length of adaptation time, assuming a linear progression, then you are going to go through hell for roughly 48 hours, after which your memories of the original timeline will fade—though not disappear—and your new ones will strengthen. Don't worry, Marty, you'll be able to tell which is which soon enough. When did this start?"

"When I woke up this morning," Marty said. "Around six."

"Unlike you to be awake at so early an hour," Doc said, reaching into his trench coat and pulling out a notepad. He jotted a few things down. "Do you believe that the onset of the new memories caused you to awaken?"

"Uh, I guess so."

"Interesting, interesting," Doc muttered, writing it down. He placed the notepad back inside his trench coat. "Something for me to consider. Goodbye Marty. Goodbye Jennifer."

"Bye, Doc," Marty said glumly.

"Goodbye," Jennifer said in a voice that sounded just as dejected.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough," Doc said. "Take care of each other."

The DeLorean started, drove out of the parking lot, turned onto John F. Kennedy Drive, and was gone.

Marty and Jennifer stood there for several moments. Finally, Jennifer reached out and took Marty's hand.

"1987," she said.

"1987," Marty repeated. He turned to her. "Do you think we should screw things up? Get him to come back early?"

Jennifer gave him a rather amused look and a crooked smile. "You don't mean that."

"Not really," Marty said. His eyes returned to the street.

After another silent moment, Jennifer began to examine the envelope.

"Maybe we should have a look at this," she said.

"Uh, I guess," Marty said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter** **Two**

Monday

October 28, 1985

6:34 PM

They went to Marty's house, since Marty's "new-and-improved" parents wouldn't object when they went alone into his room.

The documents, they found, were largely dry, bland applications, forms, and so forth, with notes from Doc explaining how and when the documents were to be used. Also in the envelope were two keys to Doc's house.

Several times Jennifer remarked that what they were reading was so boring she was going to fall asleep, but they had the opposite effect on Marty. Not because they were interesting; they really _were_ that boring. But because he had never encountered them before, he had no dueling memories about them, and he could concentrate fully on them in a way he hadn't been able to manage the rest of the day.

But his feelings of confusion returned when it came time for dinner. Since Linda was off on a date with Craig and Dave was at some office party, it was just Marty and his parents—and Jennifer, who ended up staying. The fact that she stayed for dinner only made Marty feel worse: the relationship she had with his parents in the new timeline contrasted vividly with the old. _I don't like her, Marty_ , his "old" mother had said. _Any girl who calls a boy is asking for trouble._ Marty didn't think old George even had an opinion of Jennifer. He could easily have not paid any attention to her.

The dinner was made doubly uncomfortable, however, by the way his new parents skirted around the issue of what they assumed happened at the lake. After all, new George had a serious birth control conversation the day before everything happened—Friday the 25th. Which contrasted rather severely with the memories he had of arguing with his mother over his "pushy" girlfriend before he ever traveled in time.

Marty rubbed his forehead. Every thought triggered these dueling memories, and it was giving him a very bad headache.

"Something wrong, Marty?" his mother asked.

Marty turned to look at her. He couldn't believe the small portions she had taken for herself, or that she hadn't had seconds; and yet he knew this was how she ate every single night.

"I'm just fine, Mom," he said with a wan smile.

"I hope you're not upset about the band," George said as he came back into the dining room carrying dessert, a chocolate cake. He set it down between them and sat down. "I didn't get my first story published until I was 25. One rejection isn't the end of the world."

"I know, I know," Marty said.

"Then what is it?" Lorraine asked.

Marty couldn't think of how to answer that. He certainly couldn't tell them the truth!

Jennifer quickly filled the silence. "I think that _is_ it," she said. "Sort of. You know, they gave the spot to Needles' band."

"Right," Marty said. That had happened in both timelines. "Right!" he said with more force, trying to sound angry. He hit the table with his hand. "They gave the job to French Kiss. You know, the asshole said we were 'too loud'? Needles is, like, ten times as loud as we are!"

He tensed a little bit. His old mother would have very much objected to his use of the word "asshole" at any time, let alone dinner.

"It's a pretty lame reason to turn down a rock band," George agreed. "Lorry, you think Strickland had something to do with that?"

"Come on, George," Lorraine said, "Strickland may be an ass, but he isn't petty."

"Mr. McFly, do you really think Strickland would've told the judges to fail Marty's band?" Jennifer asked.

"I'd like to think that, Dad," Marty said, "But I don't know."

"Marty, you know Strickland's always hated us. Or me, rather. The one 'slacker' that proved him wrong and did something with his life. Of course, he'd have less on you if you were more on time."

With that, he gave a hearty chuckle and helped himself to the cake. He looked at Marty.

Marty gave another wan smile. He was pretty sure his old man was seeing that Marty was hiding something. But what was he seeing?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter** **Three**

Tuesday

October 29, 1985

12:40 AM

After Marty drove Jennifer home around nine ("Bye Mrs. McFly! Bye Mr. McFly!" she had said—such a contrast), he retired alone to his room and tried to work on his homework.

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

Marty awoke with a start. He looked at his clock. _12:41_. He wasn't even aware that he had gone to sleep.

 _Tap, tap, tap_.

The noise was coming from the living room. A little apprehensive, Marty slowly tiptoed out of his room.

His father was seated in the large chair in the far corner, an electric typewriter on his lap, a pile of papers scattered around him, and an old, leather-bound notebook of some kind to his right.

George pulled the current piece of paper out of the typewriter and stared at it. Then, with an angry little grunt, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it in Marty's direction.

Marty smiled. The sight was a familiar one, a comforting one. Yet at the same time, it was something he had never seen before.

He watched as his father put a new piece of paper into the typewriter and began typing again. Marty wasn't sure what he should do. He felt the urge to tell his father about what happened—he had always and yet had never talked about heavy things with him.

He found himself clearing his throat before he even had a chance to think about what he was doing.

"Oh, hi son," George said. "Can't sleep, huh?"

"Uh, no," Marty said, "Not really."

"I know the feeling," George said. He set the typewriter on the floor. "You want to sit down?"

"Uh, sure," Marty said.

George gathered some papers off the couch and put them in a pile, leaving Marty room to sit. He sat down.

"You've seemed a little off ever since you got back from the lake," George said. He definitely sounded concerned.

"It was just an unusual weekend," Marty said.

George put his hand on Marty's shoulder.

"Marty," he said, "You know I've always been there for you. You can tell me anything."

For Marty, that statement seemed simultaneously true and false.

"I'm not sure I can tell you this one, Dad," he said. He immediately felt nervous, as if he shouldn't have said that.

George leaned back in his chair and considered for a moment, touching his finger to his chin. Finally, he asked, "Did something happen at the lake?"

"What?" Marty said, nearly shouting. "No. God, no!"

"Hmm," George replied. "Then I guess there's only one other possibility." He thought for a moment, then reached over and grabbed the leather-bound notebook.

"You said you had an unusual weekend," George said. He began thumbing through the notebook. "I had an unusual weekend, thirty years ago. The week your mother and I got together, in fact. You know the story right?"

"The basics," Marty said. He tried to catch a glimpse of what was in the notebook. "What's that?"

"My journal," George said. "I've kept a journal every day since my fourteenth birthday, more or less. Including Tuesday, November 8, 1955. Have your mother and I ever told you about Calvin Klein?"

Marty did his best to sound confused. "Calvin Klein? The fashion designer?"

"Different Calvin Klein," George said, not looking up from the notebook. He stared at it intently, as if he couldn't believe what he was reading. "Calvin Martin Klein. He told Lorraine he was a relative of Doctor Brown's, actually. He saved my life on the fifth, and then spent the rest of the week telling me I absolutely _had_ to ask Lorraine out to the dance. We even came up with a plan. Then Biff intervened, and after that night I never saw him again."

Marty nodded slowly, as if he hadn't heard this story before. But something bothered him.

"Speaking of Biff," he said. "Why do you keep him around?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he tried to rape Mom!" Marty said. "I wouldn't want a guy like that anywhere near me!"

"What would make you say that? We never told you that."

 _Oh shit!_ Marty could feel that he was breaking out in a sweat. "Oh. I, uh, just figured it out. Based on what you guys have told me."

"Are you sure that's it, Marty?"

Marty tried not to panic, and did his best to look indignant. "What else would it be, Dad?"

"Something that sounds insane," George said. He gestured at his notebook. "If I wasn't reading it out of here, I wouldn't believe it myself. You know where the story behind _Match_ came from, right?"

"Uh," Marty began. " _A Match Made In Space_?" He tried to retrieve the answer from his dueling memories. Finally, he came up with the answer. "You had a dream about an alien coming to visit you when you were thinking of asking her out."

"Not exactly," George said, handing Marty the notebook.

Marty took the notebook. The top of the right page read:

 _Tues. Nov. 8 — Last night I had my first alien encounter! I can hardly believe that it was real, but I know it to be true. Last night, I was visited by an extraterrestrial named Darth Vader, from the planet Vulcan!_

"'Darth Vader'," Marty said. "That's weird, Dad." He handed back the notebook. "But what exactly are you trying to say?"

"I was actually visited by someone that night, Marty."

"Ooookay," Marty said, slowly nodding. He was doing his best to sound concerned, worried. To sound like he thought his dad was crazy.

George frowned. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you this."

"Why not?"

George reached out with his right arm and, in a large sweeping motion, scratched the back of his head. An odd tic of his father that Marty was grateful hadn't changed. "It might not be time, yet," he said. He started to stand up. "I probably shouldn't have said anything. I might make it worse…"

"Dad, wait," Marty said, reaching out and touching him on the shoulder. "I think it _is_ time."

George sat back down. "Is it?"

Marty thought for a moment. "What happened was something that's not supposed to happen in real life. So it's going to sound crazy. But I think you need to say it."

George took a deep breath. "You traveled in time," he said.

Marty felt a burden lift from his shoulders. "I traveled through time."

"You traveled in time!" George shouted, jumping forward and pulling his son into a hug.

"Okay, Dad," Marty said nervously, patting his father on the back. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" George looked at his son as if he was crazy. "I've been waiting thirty years for this! This is incredible!"

"No kidding," Marty said. He looked around at the living room. "It wasn't like this when I left."

"The living room?"

"Well, everything, Dad. I mean, you! You—."

Marty hesitated. He wasn't sure he should tell his dad about his "old self". Would that wreck his confidence again?

"Well, you were a complete loser, Dad," Marty said. "Before I went back to 1955, you had never stood up to anyone in your life!"

"Never?"

Marty sighed. "Everything sucked where I came from. Biff was your boss, Mom was a drunk, Dave worked at Burger King, and Linda was just pathetic."

"So you changed history."

"Well, yeah."

George nodded, seemingly with satisfaction. This confused Marty.

"What is it?" he asked. "You're not surprised?"

"Well, as a writer of science fiction, I'm just considering all the implications. And you remember how things were 'before' you changed history?"

"Both," Marty said, rubbing his brow. "The Doc says I'm going to feel weird for a few days, but I'll eventually mostly just remember the way things are now. Or were now. Whatever."

George nodded. "So that's why you thought the car was wrecked—because it was?"

"Yeah, Biff 'borrowed' it."

"So I was working for Biff, huh?" George touched his chin again. "Why did I get into auto detailing?"

"No, you were at an office, and he was your supervisor. And he made you do all his work for him." Marty shook his head. "It was so painful seeing him do that to you in '55. That it had been going on since high school."

"Interesting," George said.

"Yeah, it's great you remembered all my advice from back in '55," Marty said. "But did you know, all this time? Why'd you write the story about aliens if you knew it was time travel?"

"Well," George said, "I didn't really _know_ , but after '77 I was pretty sure."

"'77?" Marty asked.

"When _Star Wars_ came out," George said. "You would have been, what, nine years old? I guess you don't remember me freaking out when Darth Vader was introduced. Anyway, it was always possible that George Lucas was visited by the same alien. But still, just who would be so interested in me and Lorraine getting together? Who would be so sure that our kids would love his music? Who would call me 'daddy-o'?"

George laughed. It was the same short, barking laugh he had in the original timeline. "Who else would have 'Calvin Klein' written on his underwear? Lorraine _did_ eventually tell me about that. I figured it had to be a descendant of mine, and Dave's just too tall. I only knew 'Calvin' for a week thirty years ago, so my memory wasn't perfect, but by the time you were twelve I was pretty sure it was you."

Slowly, Marty nodded.

"As for _Match_ ," George continued, "I wrote it about aliens because I like aliens. Besides, I already did time travel with my _Captain Timestar_ series, and my agent and I thought it best that I try something different for my first actual novel." George gestured at all the paper in the room. "Timestar is the subject of my _next_ novel, you know."

Marty struggled for a moment to find his new memories of _Captain Timestar_. After going over it for a minute, he said, "There's quite a bit to the story, actually."

"I imagine," George said. "You showed up on Sunday dressed like a cowboy. You know, I always thought the _actor_ Clint Eastwood was using a stage name and had named himself after _our_ Clint Eastwood, but I'm guessing it's actually the other way around."

Marty laughed, "Yeah, that was terrifying. But I guess I should start from the beginning."

George nodded.

And Marty told his story. From the demonstration at what was then Twin Pines Mall, to traveling to 1955, to going to 2015 to impersonate his own son, to the alternate 1985 and his return to 1955, and finally, facing down Buford "Mad Dog" Tannen in 1885.

George seemed incredibly disturbed by the story of 1985A, and particularly what the alternate Biff was capable of.

"He killed me?!" he said. "I held that bastard's hand all the way through AA!"

He also was very interested when told that Marty had met his great-great-grandfather.

"So you got to meet Seamus," George said.

"Yeah."

"Funny, because he got to meet you, remember?"

Marty was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

George frowned. "He died when you were nine days old. June 21, 1968. He met you and held you the day previously. Marty, we've told you that story your entire life. It wasn't that way when you left?"

"Uh," Marty muttered. He scratched the back of his head. He couldn't find any memories of that, either in his old memories or his new memories. Weird. "I guess he knew who I was, on some level, and wanted to meet me. How old was he?"

"A hundred and eight," George said. "I guess he really wanted to meet you."

"Weird."

"We have the newspaper clipping in your baby book," George said. "I'll look for that tomorrow."

It took Marty nearly an hour to finish his story. His father asked no more questions; he seemed content just to listen.

"Can I see the time machine?" George asked.

"Uh, no," Marty said. "The original was destroyed on Sunday." He then explained about how Doc built a time machine out of a steam train back in the 1880s and 90s, and how he was planning to stay away from Hill Valley for the most part until 1994.

George was clearly disappointed. "Well, next time he comes into town, make sure I get a chance to see it. My first story was about time travel, you know."

"Right," Marty said, yawning. He didn't know why, but he felt a lot of relief now that he had told his father. It was so strange; he had never been close to his father, not in the old world. But a quick review of his new memories showed that he always had been. Maybe that was it.

Marty stood up and stretched. "I'm gonna go to bed," he said. "If you have any more questions, you can ask me tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," George said, smiling. "Oh, and Marty, we probably shouldn't tell your mother about this. You know, considering…"

"Yeah," Marty said. "Yeah, I think she'd be really creeped out about everything. 'Night, Dad."

"'Night, son."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter** **Four**

Tuesday

October 29, 1985

11:04 PM

The day had not been particularly fun for Marty. He experienced intense disorientation throughout the day, to the point where he passed out at Jennifer's eighteenth birthday party. If it hadn't been a family affair, with her parents present, he was sure everyone would just think he was drunk—even though he never drank.

That would have been easier to explain, actually.

After he felt a bit better Jennifer's mother, Susan Campbell, had led him into the house. He ended up falling asleep on the couch in the living room of the home she shared with her second husband.

He was having a weird dream involving an axe-wielding Buford Tannen on a hoverboard when he realized someone was shaking him.

"Mom? Mom, is that you?"

"How are you feeling, Marty?" she asked.

Marty hesitated ever-so-briefly before opening his eyes, worried that some warped horror awaited him. But it was just his mother leaning over him. He sat up and saw his father standing behind her along with Jennifer's mother, and Jennifer was sitting in an easy chair across from him.

Marty stared at his mother for a moment.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Marty, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. And he was right: nothing in his brain was telling him that there was something wrong with his mother, that her face should be puffy and that she should smell of vodka.

He looked at his dad. Again, nothing was telling him that something was wrong, that he should have greasy hair and thick glasses.

"This is great." Marty sat up and ran his hand over his face. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours," Susan said. "It's after eleven, now."

Marty looked around the room. "So everyone's gone? Why?"

Jennifer laughed. "Marty, the one where everyone's gonna stay up partying all night is on _Friday_."

"Right," Marty said. "Jennifer, I'm sorry about all this. I've been a pretty shitty boyfriend today…"

Jennifer smiled. "Don't say that, Marty. If you're not feeling okay—."

"If he's not feeling okay," Lorraine interrupted, "Maybe he should see a doctor."

"No!" Marty said with a bit more force than was necessary. "No, Mom, I'm fine."

"A perfectly healthy young man doesn't fall asleep in the middle of the day," she replied.

"She _is_ right," Susan said. "But he told me he only got four hours of sleep last night. I figured he was just tired."

"Four hours?" Lorraine seemed confused.

"Yeah," George said. "He came into the living room around one."

Lorraine turned to look at George, annoyed. "You didn't wake him up, did you?"

"Mom," Marty said, "Dad's typing never wakes me up." He paused for a moment after saying that. He realized it wasn't something he would have said even six hours ago, but he felt no hesitation. Was his problem gone, now?

"I've just had a lot on my mind lately," he continued.

"Do you need to tell me something, Marty?"

"Dad and I handled it," he said.

"Okay," Lorraine said. She stood up. "Then I think we should go home."

"You're all up a bit late for a school night," Susan added.

"All right," Marty said. "So I'll take the truck, then?"

Lorraine frowned. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with you driving."

"Come on, Mom!"

"Just in case," Lorraine said, "I think George should drive you home."

"Good idea," George said. He shot a knowing look towards Marty. Marty nodded.

"Then let's go," Lorraine said.

Marty got up. Lorraine and Susan left the room. George turned to look over his shoulder on the way out.

"Just give us a minute, Dad," Marty said.

George nodded and left the room.

Marty turned to Jennifer. "Look, Jen, I'm really sorry—."

Jen pulled him to her by the collar and kissed him. "Don't be," she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and running her fingers through his hair. "I know what you're going through right now. I mean, yeah, it blows that it's on my birthday, but it's not like you can help that."

Marty nodded. "The thing is, I think it's gone now."

"Gone?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "When I was looking at Mom and Dad, there _wasn't_ a part of me telling me that something was wrong or weird. I think I'm okay now."

"So that was why you passed out, right?" Jennifer asked. "The…weird time thing?"

Marty nodded. He gently caressed her cheek and kissed her. "Yeah. But I think it's going to be okay now."

Jennifer smiled. "Good. I'm gonna want you back to yourself on Friday. I love you."

Marty kissed her again. "I love you too." He made his way out of the living room, Jennifer following. She stayed at the door as Marty made his way to his truck. George was standing by the door. Lorraine was standing by the driver's side of the BMW, which was parked in the street in front of the driveway.

"Here," Marty said, tossing his father the keys.

George caught them. "I've been hoping I'd get a chance to drive this thing."

Marty looked at his father quizzically. "You? I thought you were too cerebral for something like that."

George laughed and gave a little shrug.

Marty turned to look back at the house. He waved. "'Night, Jen!"

"Good night, Marty!"

"See you tomorrow!" Marty said, walking over to the passenger side of his truck. Meanwhile, Lorraine unlocked the BMW. She gave George an odd look.

"Don't go offroading, dear," she said.

George laughed. "I'll do my best."

Lorraine shook her head, chuckling, and got into the car.

George and Marty got into the truck. George stared at the steering wheel for a moment.

"It's not _that_ different than driving a car, right?" he asked.

"No," Marty said as he put on his seatbelt. "Not really. It's gonna be a little heavier than you're used to, though."

George nodded. He put on his seatbelt and started the car. As they backed out onto the street, Marty saw that Jennifer was still in the doorway.

Marty waved. "I love you!"

"Love you, too!" Jennifer shouted as the truck drove off.

A few moments later, they came to a stop sign. Lorraine was in front of them and went first, but George stayed behind at the stop sign for a bit longer than was necessary.

"So," he said as he drove off. "I take it you passed out as a result of your double memory quandary?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "But I think I slept it off. I don't feel anything weird anymore."

George looked at him briefly. "Like what?"

"Well, take you," Marty said. "You know, I can barely even picture you the way you were before. I mean, I know on some level, but…"

"But?"

Marty thought for a moment. "It's like a dream, now. Like I've just woken up from a nightmare that's lasted my entire life."

"Were things really that bad?" George asked.

"I guess they were. You know, sometimes," Marty said. He walked through his memories. The "old" ones really did seem like dreams. They lacked a certain something; they felt unreal. He tried to recall Friday night, seeing the car wrecked, and the picture wasn't quite solid. But he remembered very clearly talking with his parents about the next night; he remembered very clearly packing things for the trip up to the lake; he remembered very clearly talking with Jennifer on the phone for nearly two hours.

He remembered dinner. They had chicken. Dave got home late; his internship had awful hours. Marty tried to remember what they had for dinner the first time, when Dave was late _leaving_ home, working the night shift at Burger King. He remembered his father pouring something out of a box and into a bowl, and he remembered shaking his head when he offered it to him. But what was it?

Then he remembered his mother tossing the welcome home cake onto the table.

"Uncle Joey's not in prison," he whispered.

But George heard him. "What? Joey was in prison?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "He killed a guy in a bar fight. They got him for second-degree murder, I think, back in '76. That didn't happen?"

"No," George said, shocked. "I remember him having some emotional difficulties around that time, but he got through them. He drank, briefly. I was able to help him, thank God; he really looked up to me."

"There wasn't much about the original you that was worth looking up to."

George slowly brought the car to a stop. He was shaking ever so slightly.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I always knew Calvin—I mean, _you_ —made a real difference in my life. But this is _huge_!"

"Dad," Marty said slowly, worried, "Calm down."

"Calm down?" He turned to Marty, an manic look on his face. A look of triumph. "Marty, sometime this week you have to tell me _everything_. Everything that's changed. Think about it: you didn't just improve the socioeconomic situation of your family; _you saved a man's life_. That guy Joey killed?" He looked out the windshield and stared out it for a few moments.

"What is it?" Marty asked.

"Well, as a writer of science fiction, I've familiarized myself with fictional treatments of time travel. It seems every science fiction writer has this idea that time travel to the past inevitably makes things worse in the present. Even I haven't given Timestar much of a break in that area. The idea seems to be that there's some sort of cosmic law, that God, or the cosmos, is offended by very existence of time travel and punishes the time traveler, usually in the worst, most nightmarish way possible. If I had to guess, I'd say that something or some _one_ has gone out of its way to _reward_ you for traveling. in time."

He continued to stare out the window, a far-off look in his eyes.

"You said that Doctor Brown met a woman back in 1885?" He didn't wait for Marty to confirm that. "Odd place for one's soul mate to be located, thirty or so years before you're born. And the fact that she was 'destined,' if you will, to die without his intervention seems too damn convenient. I wonder if there really is a…a grand design, if you will, if someone out in the cosmos is actively intervening in our lives to make them better."

Slowly, Marty nodded. "Yeah, that's great, Dad. Can you take me home, now?"

George turned to look at Marty. For a moment, he appeared to be offended.

"Of course," he said, starting the truck again. "There'll be plenty of time to think about esoterics later. You really should be in bed, anyway. Just make sure I get to talk to the Doc next time he's in town. It's _really_ important!"

"Right."

"Oh!" George said. "I found that article on Grandpa Seamus. Do you remember that story, now?"

Marty thought for a moment. "No, I don't. I can't remember you _ever_ telling me he lived long enough to meet me."

"That's very strange," George said. "I'll show that to you then, after school."

"Good," Marty said. He wondered why he couldn't remember anything about Seamus living so long. That didn't seem to make any sense, especially since he remembered, now, everything that had changed.

 _I really wish I could ask the Doc_ , he thought.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
